I had lunch today with a really good friend. And we were talking about some pretty important, pretty serious shit. And then our server brought our food to the table. And it was all downhill from there, because this is exactly what happened in my brain:
Server: Here's your chimichanga.
My Brain: Chimichanga. Chimi-changa. Sounds like an aboriginal tribe somewhere deep in the Amazon rain forest, living off grubs and howler monkeys. Oh shit, now I'm thinking about eating people. That reminds me of Soylent Green, that movie with Charlton Heston set in 2022 (which is actually not that far off), the one where he figures out that the only company producing food anymore is making it out of people. Why the fuck am I thinking about eating people? No way can I eat this chimichanga now. I am literally thinking about an obscure, totally made up Amazonian rain forest culture that is walking, hand in hand, into a giant meat grinder, and ohholyshit wasn't that a scene from Pink Floyd's The Wall, where all the school kids with piggy faces or something were literally marching into a huge meat grinder, and kiddie-sausage was coming out the bottom? I so need them to take this plate away right now. I need nachos. And maybe tequila. Anything that doesn't sound like I'm about to eat something that makes me a cannibal. Or a zombie. SHUTTHEFUCKUP, brain! Seriously!
My Friend: How's the chimichanga?
Me: It's people.
My Friend: What?
Me: It's great.
THIS is why, if you ever go out to lunch with me, you should be okay with booze. Because otherwise, a serious conversation about really important matters concerning family and friendship and spirituality is likely to wind up being a one-sided diatribe about not-real aborigines and rock 'n roll and food made out of people. And maybe zombies.
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